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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29655201">Dead Man Walking</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScaryScarecrows/pseuds/ScaryScarecrows'>ScaryScarecrows</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Injustice: Gods Among Us</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Enchantress' supermove looks horrifying, That's it that's the plot, but less black comedy and more yup that happened, mentions of that one time Jason died</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 22:01:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,119</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29655201</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScaryScarecrows/pseuds/ScaryScarecrows</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s slumped against the pod, breathing hard. He’s bruised, broken, and his heart hurts. Like, a physical ache, not some ‘woe is me’ crap. And he’s tired, and yeah, that was rough, but usually the adrenaline’s still working right about now. But it’s not, and it’s an effort to stay on his feet.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Dead Man Walking</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Enchantress’ supermove in Injustice 2 is her ripping the opponent’s soul out of their body and clobbering them with it before shoving it back inside. It doesn’t look fun. Like, at all. ANYWAYS, Enchantress in general is scary. I know fuck-all about her except that she hurt me. B)<br/>(Title from one of Jason’s many, many friendly reminders that he died that one time. Not pictured: me, facepalming.)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jason won the fight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Barely, oh boy, was it barely, but he managed to come out on top. Moon-and he does feel sorry for her, possessed by that...whatever the hell it is-is knocked out cold and tucked safely into one of Bruce’s little pods (so he stole it, it’s going straight back) to keep her contained.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Man, </span>
  <b>fuck</b>
  <span> magic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s slumped against the pod, breathing hard. He’s bruised, broken, and his heart </span>
  <b>hurts</b>
  <span>. Like, a physical ache, not some ‘woe is me’ crap. And he’s </span>
  <b>tired</b>
  <span>, and yeah, that was rough, but usually the adrenaline’s still working right about now. But it’s not, and it’s an effort to stay on his feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d...honestly, he’s not sure what happened. He’d taken a swing at her-any reservations about harming June Moon had flown out the window when the green thing showed up-missed, and the next thing he knew, there’d been a horrible </span>
  <b>tearing</b>
  <span> feeling, deep inside him. Then he’d sort of blanked out for a minute or two, and now he really, really hurts. Feels like...honestly, it feels like he fought </span>
  <b>Bruce</b>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leans his head back against the cold glass, eyes fluttering shut, and jumps a mile when the pod shudders. Inside, the...the thing laughs at him, a deep, throaty cackle that makes his skin crawl.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>“Boo.”</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up.” She can’t get out. These things can restrain Zatanna if they have to. “I don’t know what they’re going to do with you, and I don’t care.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She presses up against the glass, writhing obscenely, and grins. Her teeth are very, very sharp.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>“C’mon, Jason,”</em>
  </b>
  <span> she-it?-goads. </span>
  <b>
    <em>“Let </em>
  </b>
  <b>
    <em>me</em>
  </b>
  <b>
    <em> under that hood.”</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d rather not, thanks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See ya, freak,” he mutters, steps around to the keypad to send this thing back to the cave. “If we never meet again, it’ll be too soon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>“All that trauma in your soul,”</em>
  </b>
  <span> she purrs. </span>
  <b>
    <em>“I’d love another taste, maybe with a nice Italian dinner? Hmm?”</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keep dreamin’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She licks the glass. He resolutely does not think about her tackling him to the ground-his spine is lucky it didn’t crack, that was a hard hit-and attempting to get him out of his armor before he kicked her off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The teasing turns to rage when he hits the last button and the pod starts to shake, getting ready for return. Good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t watch it go. He wants to go home and shower and stitch himself up and </span>
  <b>sleep</b>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>* * *</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So the scary magic lady did more damage than he thought. Like. A </span>
  <b>lot</b>
  <span> more damage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His helmet was lost mid-brawl, when she’d tried to rip it off. Rather than her take his whole head, he’d popped the latches and let her have the bomb, hoped, a little, that that would be enough. It hadn’t been, and, well, she’d then come screaming out of the smoke, legs wrapping around his waist and clawed the shit out of his face before he’d managed to rip her off like a leech. There’s clawmarks-and they are claws, not fingernails-across his face, splitting his lips and everything, but there’s also deep, heavy bruises on his cheekbones. Both of ‘em. He does not remember getting those. They’re fists, bigger than hers, though. More like his own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason frowns-ow ow ow-and reaches up to prod one. Yeah, that hurts, that’s a real bruise, not a shadow. Jeeze...okay, what else…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Further investigation turns up more bruising around his torso, probably from where she glommed onto him to scratch him up. Interestingly, though, the...it…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Look. The pit didn’t fix everything. Some stuff stuck, and one of those things is the scar from his own damn autopsy. Because people do wonder about things when teenagers get blown up out of nowhere, apparently. Whatever. But it’s there, and usually he can ignore it because it’s faded and he grew up and around it and also he has other scars now, but not tonight. Tonight it’s red and raw and it does actually hurt, which is new.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He presses a finger to his breastbone and wiggles it a little. Nothing new and horrible happens, but the area is indeed sensitive. Tracing the scar says it feels...new. </span>
  <b>Recent.</b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What did she do to me?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometimes, Jason wonders if he’ll just drop dead, if whatever ripped him out of his grave will decide he should be back down there. Tonight? He’s a little more afraid of that possibility than usual.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tears his eyes from his chest, searches for anything that needs stitches. There. By his hip, that needs...that needs…</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t feel good.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He slumps forward, breathing hard. He’s </span>
  <b>tired</b>
  <span>, why’s he so tired? He shouldn’t be this tired.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hip. He needs to stitch that, then go to bed. He’ll be sorry if he lets it go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Realistically, he’s got like three people he can call to do this. And he should call one of them, because it’s in a bad spot. But...s’just, he can still feel those fingers pawing at him, and...not tonight. He can’t be touched anymore tonight. He’ll do it himself. Not like it’s the first time. It certainly won’t be the last.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So it’s a little messy. So what. He finishes the job and stumbles towards his bed. His chest still hurts, but that weird, painful-heart feeling is starting to wane. Maybe he just got hit too hard, or...or imagined it. It doesn’t matter, he guesses. Maybe he did imagine it, anyway; she’d </span>
  <b>known</b>
  <span>, somehow, what had happened. Well, kinda. Not about the Joker-or at least he hadn’t come up-but about his death, about waking up in his own coffin and desperately trying to get out of it before he suffocated in the dirt. She’d known, and she’d brought it up, and...yeah, that’s all. Threw him for a loop. He’s not perfect, he’s got...he’s got triggers, sometimes, and he’s trying, but…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>People don’t get it. Yeah, he knows he’s not special, that other people have died, but they came back to families that wanted them. They got help. Jason? Not so much, and now everyone just sort of goes, ‘yeah, well, it was ages ago and you did get yourself killed, so suck it up, buttercup’, and it’s...it feels awkward to correct them now. And not worth his time. They don’t care, they’ll see it as an excuse. Just like everything else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever. That’s all this is. She poked some triggers and should be grateful he kept it together enough to contain her rather than find a way to behead her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(He wouldn’t. Moon’s an innocent.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighs, pulls his blankets up to his neck and curls up on his side. It’s been a long night, and he’s tired.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>THE END</span>
</p>
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